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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055103">Texas Heat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity'>Spinning_In_Infinity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A/B/O, Alpha Tommy, Alpha/Omega, Bonding, Captor To Lover, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hoyt Is A Gross Jerk, Luda Mae Always Wanted A Daughter, Mating, Non-Con In Chapter Three, Omega Reader, Omegaverse, Stockholm Syndrome, Tommy In Rut Is A Sight To Imagine, possessive tommy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:28:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha!Tommy x Omega!Reader (AFAB). </p><p>When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love with the silent alpha that wields the killing weapon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leatherface | Thomas Brown Hewitt/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Texas sun beats mercilessly down on the back of your neck, the air thick and slow as dark molasses. You tied your sweater around your waist, but even that was too much for your sweating skin, so now it just hangs limply from your fingers.</p><p> You manage to hitch a lift from a family of three on a cross-state road trip – the parents were both betas, the little girl in the back unpresented. You tell them you’re heading back to college from visiting your family, that your car packed up some three miles back. You also tell them you’re a beta. Two truths and a lie.</p><p> They pull into a small gas station in Travis County called Cele Community Centre to fill up, while you step inside the sore to ask to use the phone. A middle-aged woman with cats-eye spectacles stands behind the counter, a couple of leather-clad bikers sitting at a table littered with beer bottles.</p><p> The phone’s busted, but when you explain about your car, she offers a different option. Her brother’s got a tow truck – he could go pick up your car and bring it back for repair. It’s too good an offer to refuse, so you wave goodbye to the beta family and take a seat in the diner. The woman – Luda May Hewitt, she introduces herself – gives you a soda on the house and asks you about yourself. You tell her about your parents, your brother in the army, your little sister about to graduate high school. By the time her brother arrives – a unkempt, bespectacled man she calls Monty – you feel as though you’ve been talking to a matronly aunt for the past hour. She’s kind, with good old-fashioned Southern values, and so when she asks if you’d like to join them for supper, you accept. Monty says your car needs a new valve or something, which he has back at the homestead, so you hop in the cab of his truck next to Luda May.</p><p> The Hewitt family home is a large farmhouse, with sprawling fields surrounding and a dilapidated garage. Monty parks up in the front yard and disappears, presumably to find the missing piece for your car. You shoulder your bag and follow Luda May inside the house. It’s not particularly clean, but your mother raised you to be polite, so you accept some sweet tea and some homemade biscuits.</p><p> Shortly, another man appears in the kitchen – this one younger and more well-presented than Monty - who introduces himself as Sheriff Hoyt. A rough, brutish scent of alpha pheromones follows him through the door, but you know by instinct its not from him.</p><p> “Tommy,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at a hulking figure beyond the doorway. “Come say hello to our guest.”</p><p> The person who steps into the room has to be the largest man you’ve never seen. Not only is he tall – at least six and a half feet – but he’s also broad; wide shoulders, muscular arms, and a chest like a barrel. Despite the suppressants you’ve been careful to keep concealed in your bag, your glands tingle pleasantly as his scent washes over you. Your nose recognises earth, leather and sweat, but your finer-tuned olfactory senses catch hints of sandalwood, charcoal, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. You contribute this to the butcher’s apron he’s wearing tied around his thick waist – the dark brown stains a clear indication of animal slaughter. While this doesn’t exactly strike you as comforting, you can’t deny his scent is … appealing.</p><p> You focus on his face for just a moment, not wanting to stare. His dark hair is long and wavy, most of his face concealed beneath a crude leather mask, revealing only his eyes, forehead and a small glimpse of chapped lips. The space where his nose would be beneath the mask is strangely flat, leading you to suspect some kind of physical deformity. His shadowed eyes catch yours and you look away in embarrassment.</p><p> “This here’s Thomas, my boy,” Luda May says. “Tommy, meet Y/N.”</p><p> “Hey,” you rise to your feet and hold out a hand. Even at your full height, you barely come up to his chest. “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”</p><p> He doesn’t speak or move to shake your hand, but his right-hand fingers flex at his side, so you can tell he wants to. Moreover, you can smell it on him. The pheromones he’s giving off betray his interest, and your face flushes at the thought that such an impressive alpha’s attention is directed at <em>you</em>. Eventually, you lower your hand and return to your seat, taking a sip of tea to hide your awkwardness.</p><p> “So,” Hoyt says, sitting down opposite you and placing his hat on the table. “Y/N, what are you?”</p><p> You know what he’s trying to say, even if the question comes across as a little rude.</p><p> “I’m a beta, sir,” you say.</p><p> “Seems the whole dang state’s beta these days,” he says, leaning back and accepting a glass of tea from Luda May. “Tommy’s pretty much the only alpha ‘round these parts, and as for omegas, forget it.”</p><p> Praying that your suppressants are doing their job, you nod along with his words and try not to focus on Thomas, who’s still standing like a full-door draft excluder in the corridor. You wonder if his senses are strong enough to tell that you’re lying. Surely if they were, he’d say something, wouldn’t he? Such a big strong alpha like him, wouldn’t be able to help himself.</p><p> <em>Big strong alpha</em> …</p><p> The thought makes you shiver slightly, and you notice Thomas shift where he stands. Covering your neck as casually as you can with one hand, you pretend to be intently interested in what Hoyt is saying. As he’s illustrating the hardships of being the county’s only sheriff, Monty appears, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.</p><p> “Well, hope you didn’t have nowhere to be anytime soon, ‘cause that tin can sure ain’t going without a new carburetor.”</p><p> Your heart sinks – the car was a gift from your parents when you got into UT, and you’d taken good care of it since. How had it sustained so much damage without you realising?</p><p> “D’you know where I can get a new one?”</p><p> He blows his cheeks out. “Nowhere ‘round here. Next town, maybe; ‘bout twenty miles north.”</p><p> You mentally count the small handful of notes folded in your wallet – your mom had given you $50 to get back to college, enough for fuel and food along the way, plus extra to stay in a motel. Certainly not enough for such a hefty repair.</p><p> “Course,” Hoyt says, a strange smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Uncle Monty’d be more’n happy to drive through for one tomorrow, wouldn’t ya, Monty?”</p><p> Monty nods slowly. “Be my pleasure.”</p><p> A strange tension has fallen over the small room, setting the hairs on the back of your neck a-prickle. Hoyt’s eyes are burning into you with a fierce intensity, almost … hunger, Monty bearing a smile, too leery to be comforting. You’re wondering if you’ve made a mistake in coming here, when Thomas moves from the shadows, his scent passing over you. Your shoulders drop a little, his presence proving an inexplicable reassurance to you. You know it’s your hormones talking; with such an alpha nearby, you’re safe. It takes a nudge from the logical side of your brain to remind you that biology is not fact, and you could be very, very far from safe with these people.</p><p> You clear your throat, mouth suddenly dry.</p><p> “Well, that’s awful kind of you. Is there, um … a motel or something I could stay at tonight?”</p><p> “Motel?” Luda May laughs. “Don’t be so silly, honey – you’ll stay here.”</p><p> You turn to look at her, her warm, motherly gaze refilling some of the certainly draining from you. Maybe you’re just being paranoid. After all, you’re a young woman – an omega, no less – so it’s no wonder that Hoyt and Monty might act strangely around you, whether they realise it or not. As for Thomas, well …</p><p> “I don’t want to be a bother, ma’am.”</p><p> “Oh hush, you’re no bother at all, and call me Luda.” She takes an old apron from a hook on the wall and nods towards the door. “Tommy’ll show you to the spare room and then you can help me start dinner.”</p><p> Thomas looks as surprised by the idea of being alone with you as you are, his gargantuan posture stiffening. His eyes flit from Luda May to you, unsure of what to do.  </p><p> “Go on, boy, m’sure she don’t bite,” Hoyt chuckles.</p><p> <em>But does </em>he? Your mind races as you lift your bag and follow Thomas from the kitchen. His heavy footsteps make the floorboards shake as he ascends the stairs, decidedly not looking anywhere in your direction. The room he takes you to is small, barely more than a box room, with a narrow cot bed, a chest of drawers, and a dirty sink built into the wall. The white ceramic has been long since hidden beneath a layer of brown grime, and the light from the window is filtered through what looks like years of dirt.</p><p> You turn your head to thank Thomas, but the words die on your tongue when you see how close he is. His chest is heaving, and you suspect he’s … smelling you. <em>Shit</em>. You remember the mace your mom forced you to take with you, stowed safely away at the bottom of your pack. There’s no way you could get to it before he could grab you. He’s so big – his hands could easily encompass your entire head – you’re sure he could do irreparable damage without breaking so much as a sweat. His eyes – how had you not noticed how blue they are? – are fixed on you, all trace of shyness gone. You raise a hand – to do what, you’ve no idea – and stifle a shriek when he takes hold of your arm with surprising agility. Your blood stills as he lifts your wrist to his face, the air whistling through his nostrils beneath the mask as he breathes in your scent. He must know – there’s no way he can’t. He must either be the strongest alpha you’ve ever encountered, or on the brink of his rut, to detect your omega scent through your suppressants. Or both.</p><p> Part of you wants to run, to scream for help, but you can’t; your legs won’t move.</p><p> “Please …” you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re pleading for. Your eyes meet for one long, electrifying moment.</p><p> “Tommy, get down here! We got trespassers!”</p><p> Thomas drops your hand like it’s scalding hot, disappearing from the room and down the stairs after Hoyt’s harsh commands. You stand rooted to the spot, your heart beating a brand against your ribcage, and the bed creaks ominously beneath you as you drop down onto it. Fishing in your bag, you pull out the thin blister pack of pills, swallowing one dry. You have enough to get you safely back to Austin – you’ll just have to hope your stay here is a short one.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dinner that night is stew.</p><p> You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.</p><p> “Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”</p><p> You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.</p><p> “I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.</p><p> “His face?”</p><p> You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.</p><p> “He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”</p><p> “Of course not, I wouldn’t.”</p><p> She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and …” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”</p><p> “I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”</p><p> She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”</p><p> For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.</p><p> “How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.</p><p> You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.</p><p> <em>He’s just a dirty old man,</em> you try and convince yourself. <em>Ignore him</em>.</p><p> Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has <em>this</em> much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.</p><p> That was the last time you went to camp.</p><p> Could it be because of Thomas? Is <em>that</em> why your body is reacting so strongly?</p><p> Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You <em>know</em> you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.</p><p> Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.</p><p> You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.</p><p> You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.</p><p> You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.</p><p> “Please …” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me …”</p><p> Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you<em> know</em> you should go. The door is right in front of you.</p><p> “Pleeeeease …” the voice sobs.</p><p> Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends …</p><p> “Oh God, help me …”</p><p> “God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.</p><p> Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.</p><p> She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.</p><p> “Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p> “Oh God,” she gasps.</p><p> “Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”</p><p> “NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.</p><p> The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.</p><p> You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do <em>anything</em> besides what you <em>are</em> doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.</p><p> He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.</p><p> The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.</p><p> “Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”</p><p> He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”</p><p> Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.</p><p> “Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”</p><p> “You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.</p><p> “That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”</p><p> Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.</p><p> You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.</p><p> You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.</p><p> You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—</p><p> He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.</p><p> You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—</p><p> “Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”</p><p> He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.</p><p> You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please … p-please don’t kill me.”</p><p> He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.</p><p> “I’ll … I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha … you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”</p><p> He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.</p><p> “What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.</p><p> In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly <em>human</em> blood.</p><p> Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.</p><p> “Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”</p><p> Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.</p><p> “Come on, then.”</p><p> Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.</p><p> “Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.” </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING: This chapter contains hormone-driven non-con.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hoyt sniffs the air appreciatively as your scent is contained within the confines of the basement. The blonde girl is gone, to where and to what end you can only imagine.</p><p> “Set ’er down there, boy,” Hoyt’s toothy grin is frighteningly animalistic – more so than Thomas himself – as you’re deposited on the filthy mattress. The stuffing squelches unpleasantly beneath your weight, and you’re met with a sudden wave of scent – the frightened pheromones of the many poor girls trapped here before. Now it’s your turn.</p><p> “Now, son,” Hoyt lays a hand on his heaving shoulder, his voice lowering to an almost comforting timbre. “This is your first time, and you’re not gonna know what t’do. But I’mma talk you through it.”</p><p> “What?” the horrified squeak escapes you before you can stop it. Strange as it sounds, you were prepared for Thomas to take you as an alpha would, but a redneck cheerleader had <em>not</em> been in the equation.</p><p> Grabbing hold of your hair, Hoyt squats down behind you and holds you in place. “Now, you listen here, omega bitch,” he growls in your ear, and you cringe away from the stench of stale tobacco on his breath, “you’re gonna just take this how I tell you to. I won’t have you ruinin’ this for him, y’hear? Tommy, spread ’er legs nice and wide.”</p><p> Thomas takes hold of your knees and splays them apart, leaning in close to breathe in the saccharine aroma of the slick still fresh on your thighs.</p><p> “Sure smells good, don’t it, boy?” Hoyt reaches down over your shoulder, one large hand pushing past the waistband of your shorts and into your panties. You cry out in disgust as he slips a finger through your folds and pulls it out dripping with sweet-scented slick. He waves it under Thomas’s nose like a dog being baited with a bone.</p><p> “You’ll wanna taste summa this,” he places the moist finger in his own mouth and sucks at the juices with nauseating satisfaction. Thomas rumbles deep in his chest and Hoyt chuckles.</p><p> “Sorry, son, forgot myself there – she’s your little bitch, after all.”</p><p> Settling his hand down to fondle one of your breasts, he secures the other over your mouth.</p><p> “Now just y’all keep quiet, don’t wanna go wakin’ Momma from her beauty rest.”</p><p> You numbly allow Thomas to rip your shorts from your hips, tossing the ruined garment aside into the shadows.</p><p> “Get on in there and get a good taste ’fore you stick it in her,” Hoyt says.  </p><p> Leaning in close, Thomas takes a long, unapologetic inhale of your scent and you see his pupils dilate. With beginner’s caution, he presses the muzzle of his mask against your clit and laps at the delicate pink flesh, the ridge of the leather adding an extra layer of sensation. You curse yourself for the moans that Hoyt’s fingers are stifling, but pressure against your clit married with the attention of his tongue is just too much. You can feel your orgasm already starting to build, like the smallest of waves far from shore. When Thomas pulls back, his mask is shining with your slick, and you see his tongue seeking out droplets from around the muzzle.</p><p> “That’s it, boy,” Hoyt encourages, “now for the main event. You stick your little bitch good, knot her right up.”</p><p> You can’t hold back a whimper at the size of Thomas’s cock when its revealed to you. At least nine inches long, thick as your wrist, the reddish-purple head already leaking precum. You want to be horrified, want to shy away from such a fate, but the urge to be claimed by such a cock as this, to have that cum filling you up ‘til it spills from you is like trying not to breathe.</p><p> “Hold up,” Hoyt removes his hand from your mouth and you flush beet-red with shame at the moisture on his palm. “Well, I’ll be! This bitch is <em>gaggin’</em> for ya, Tommy!” He fists the back of your hair and pushes you forward. “How’s about we give ‘er somethin’ to <em>really</em> slaver over?”</p><p> The overpowering musk of Thomas’s scent fills your nostrils, and your mouth falls open with almost no help from Hoyt as he rubs your face against the head of Thomas’s cock. You can taste Thomas’s discomfort with the way Hoyt forces your head back and forth, your mouth barely wide enough to accommodate his cock, but it clearly feels far too good for any morals he might have to get in the way. Your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears and you gaze helplessly at the behemoth above you.</p><p> <em>Please,</em> you try to express without words, <em>please, alpha – help me.</em></p><p> With a growl of frustration, Thomas grips your shoulders and pushes you off of him, his strength more than enough to combat Hoyt’s, who sits back with an accepting shrug.</p><p> “Y’want me to hold ’er down for you?”</p><p> He backs off when Thomas shoots him a sharp look, leaning back on his haunches to watch the alpha at work, a proud grin on his shit-eating face. You whimper helplessly up at Thomas as he cages you in against the mattress, hands splayed either side of your head.</p><p> “That’s it, boy,” Hoyt’s voice is low now, as though deep in concentration. From the corner of your eye, you can see him palming his crotch through his pants. “Show this omega bitch who the real boss is here.”</p><p> Your scream as he enters you is quickly stifled by Hoyt’s hand. You feel yourself stretch impossibly wide around him, searing pain bleeding into intense pleasure as he drives into you with the force of a rutting ram. His undiluted alpha scent washes over you, rendering you utterly helpless to him. You can hear Hoyt as though through water, urging Thomas on, his drawling voice getting rougher and more aggressive as he touches himself to your desperate cries. You’ve never known a pain to cut so deep – the physical toll of such an enormous man as Thomas thrusting into you combined with your omega instincts screaming against such abuse from the alpha you’ve submitted to. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be; once an omega submits to an alpha, that alpha is supposed to take care of them. Your vision swims with tears, and even the warm rush of orgasm can’t soothe the betrayal that bites at your core. Your blood runs cold with hatred for Hoyt, his satisfied grunts as he ejaculates making you feel sick.</p><p> “C’mon, Tommy,” he slaps the damp mattress, the stink of beta cum strong on his hand. “Give her your fuckin’ knot, boy! This bitch is yours – claim her!”</p><p> You’ve never seen a man so torn as Thomas in that moment. His scent is thick with predatory arousal, but his eyes are filled with bewilderment.</p><p> “God damn it, Tommy!” Hoyt’s voice rises in anger. “Don’t go bein’ a pussy on me, now! Fuck her bloody! Be a fuckin’ man!”</p><p> “THOMAS BROWN HEWITT!”</p><p> Both men turn to stare at Luda May standing at the foot of the stairs, a motheaten bathrobe wrapped around her. Fury is etched into the lines of her face, and Thomas recoils from you, retreating into the shadows while tucking himself back into his pants. Your abused pussy feels cold and empty, but you can’t deny your relief at the ordeal’s end.</p><p> “We’re a little busy here, Momma.” Hoyt responds, looking equal parts sheepish and pissed off.</p><p> Satan himself would have flinched from the look Luda gives him. “I tolerate you doin’ whatever wicked things you do on your own time, Charlie,” she says, “but I will NOT stand by and watch you drag my sweet boy down with you.”</p><p> A burst of hysterical, tear-laced laughter escapes you at the description of Thomas as ‘a sweet boy’, but Luda doesn’t look at you. You get the feeling she’s ashamed to.</p><p> “He needs a real man to show him how things’re done,” Hoyt – Charlie? – says.</p><p> “Oh, and you think that’s you, do you? Shut your dang mouth,” she snaps. “Tommy, get over here.”</p><p> Thomas glances at you, for all the world as though he’s imploring you for help. The heady scent of his alpha pheromones is already fading.</p><p> “Now!”</p><p> He jumps and shuffles over to his mother, large boots splashing through the water. He barely moves when she deals him a sharp slap across the face, his hands curling into fists at his sides.</p><p> “Get this poor girl to bed,” she says, unwrapping her robe from around her shoulders and pushing it into his hands. “I don’t want a peep from you ’til mornin’.”</p><p> Despite everything he’s done to you that night, you find you’re more eager to get away from Hoyt than you are from Thomas. You take the robe he drops on the mattress and wrap it round your shoulders, tucking it over your bare legs. You try to stand but your knees give out before you can rise even halfway. You stumble, grabbing on to the nearest thing that can offer you support – which happens to be Thomas’s muscular arms. As easy as one might lift a child, he scoops you up and cradles you against his chest. Too exhausted to be afraid, you simply allow him to carry you up the stairs, leaving Luda and Hoyt’s furious voices behind you.</p><p> The last time you were in these arms, all you knew was fear and dread. The fear still remains, but at least you know the worst. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are greatly appreciated because I'm a needy little trash-bag.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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